I like to think that sometimes when Alfred has to patch Bruce up, and Bruce finally passes out, he trails a hand through his hair, maybe places a light kiss on his forehead. The actions he used to prefer when he was little and sick, when Martha would stay by his bedside. When he couldn’t sleep, and Thomas was up anyway because he was on-call.
Just because no matter how old Bruce gets, and no matter how much things change, Alfred still sees that little boy bundled up in his sheets.











